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‘Well, the specialist was very nice and very thorough,’ said Lucy, ‘but he definitely doesn’t think Ted’s fit to live alone any more.’
‘OK,’ said Strike. ‘Good to know going back to the old house isn’t an option. What was Ted’s reaction? Did he take it all in?’
‘He sort of nodded along while we were there, but he’s literally just told me he thinks he ought to be getting home. I’ve found him packing twice in the last few days, although if you distract him he’s completely happy to come downstairs and watch TV or have something to eat. I just don’t know what to do next.’
‘Is Greg agitating to get him out of the spare room?’
‘Not agitating,’ said Lucy defensively, ‘but we’ve talked it through and I suppose it would be hard having Ted to live with us while we’re both working. Ted would still be alone for most of the day.’
‘Luce, I think it’s got to be a care home in London.’
He expected his sister to start crying, and wasn’t disappointed.
‘But Joan would’ve hated—’
‘What she’d have hated,’ said Strike firmly, ‘would be for Ted to break his neck trying to get down those stairs, or for him to wander off and get lost again because nobody’s keeping an eye on him. If we sell the house in Cornwall, we’ll be able to get him into a good place up here where both of us can visit.’
‘But his roots – Cornwall’s all he’s ever—’
‘It’s not all he’s ever known,’ said Strike. ‘He was a Red Cap for seven years, he went all over the bloody place. I want to know he’s being fed properly, and that someone’s keeping an eye on his health. If he moves up here, we can see him regularly and take him out. It’s a bloody nightmare, him being five and a half hours away, every time something goes wrong. And before you say he’ll miss all his friends, half of them are dead, Luce.’
‘I know, I just…’
‘This is the answer. You know it is.’
He could tell that somewhere beneath Lucy’s distress was relief that he was taking charge, that the decision wasn’t hers alone. After some more reassurance and encouragement, she bade him farewell, sniffing but sounding calmer. This left Strike with a few minutes in which to relegate his own family problems to the back of his mind, and focus on those of the Edensors.
Rules, which Strike had never visited before, lay in Maiden Lane and had an impressive old-world frontage. Upon telling the maître d’ who he was meeting, Strike was shown through the restaurant, of which the walls were bestrewn with antlers, Victorian prints and antique clocks, to a red velvet booth in which Sir Colin, kindly faced as ever, was sitting.
‘Very good of you to meet at my convenience,’ said Sir Colin as they shook hands. He was scanning Strike’s face rather anxiously for some intimation of what he was about to hear.
‘Very grateful for the lunch,’ said Strike, easing himself into the booth. ‘Did you have a good holiday?’
‘Oh, yes, it was wonderful spending some time with the grandchildren,’ said Sir Colin. ‘Constantly thinking how much Sally would have… but anyway…’
A waiter arrived to offer menus and drinks. Both men declined the latter.
‘So, your partner’s out of Chapman Farm?’ said Sir Colin.
‘She is, yes,’ said Strike, ‘and she’s got us a lot of good information. Firstly,’ said Strike, who could see no way of cushioning the worst blow and thought it was best delivered immediately, ‘Will had no idea your wife’s died.’
Sir Colin’s hand went to his mouth.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Strike. ‘I know that must be hard to hear.’
‘But we wrote,’ said Sir Colin shakily, lowering his hand. ‘We wrote multiple times.’
‘Robin found out that church members are pressured to sign a declaration that they don’t want to be given letters from the outside. This seems to be something the church does with people who’ve progressed up a certain number of levels to what they call pure spirit – in other words, people they think they’ve really got their hooks into, and whose isolation they want to cement. From the moment the declaration’s signed, the church withholds all correspondence. It’s supposedly viewable upon request, but from what Robin’s told me, asking to read letters would put a church member in line for immediate demotion to manual labour and possibly punishment.’
Strike fell silent while four rotund men in expensive suits passed the booth, then went on,
‘Someone at the church – probably Mazu Wace, who Robin says is in charge of correspondence – informed Will that you’d written to say his mother was ill. Robin thinks this was probably to cover themselves, in case of legal action from you. She thinks Mazu will have encouraged Will to see this as a ruse to manipulate him, and asked whether he wanted further news. If he’d said “yes”, Robin believes he’d have been punished, possibly severely. In any case, we know no further information about your wife was passed on. When Robin told Will his mother was dead, he was very distressed and went immediately to the church superiors to ask to write to you. I presume you haven’t received any such letter?’
‘No,’ said Sir Colin faintly. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Well, that’s the last contact with Will Robin had before she escaped, but—’
‘What d’you mean, “escaped”?’
